


Caught In Your Light

by gezurak



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Popstar Harry, Producer Niall, vlogging - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gezurak/pseuds/gezurak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Radio DJ/TV host Niall and his popstar boyfriend, Harry, often vlog about their life together. When their mate Liam tags them in a cooking challenge where one has to guide the other through a recipe from the other side of a divider, ever competitive Harry is all in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught In Your Light

**Author's Note:**

> Idea (very) loosely based on [this Buzzfeed video](http://www.buzzfeed.com/hillarylevine/couples-try-each-others-hobbies#.womVo3POZ) of a guy walking his husband through baking cookies. 
> 
> The vlogging thing is based on Tom and Gi Fletcher. 
> 
> Title and the song Harry sings is [Counting Stars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jx8uea7ANxk) by Augustana. 
> 
> And if you are so inclined, [this](http://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/pasta-recipes/wholewheat-ravioli-with-courgette-flowers-ricotta) is the ravioli recipe.
> 
> ....this might become a 'Verse. I already have too many headcanons. Shit.

“Alright, so,” Niall says to the camera, sitting on his hands in the kitchen chair so he doesn’t wave them around. “A lot of you’ve requested we do the couple’s cooking challenge. Our mate Leemo’s already done it with his girlfriend, so naturally Haz demanded we do it as well.”

Niall rolls his eyes at the excited giggle Harry can’t contain on the other side of the bedsheet they’ve strung up in their kitchen. It’d taken them twenty minutes to get it up and position the camera so both he on his chair and Harry at the counter are in the frame, without being able to see the other.

“I just want to prove I can do better than Liam,” Harry insists, voice going muffled for a moment. Niall can picture him standing with a mess of ingredients around him, pulling an apron over his head and tying it. “I used to be a baker you know.”

“Which is exactly why you’re not making a sweet,” Niall quips. He bends down to the side to retrieve one of his Jamie Oliver cookbooks from the floor and brandishes it at the camera.

The truth is Harry can cook well enough that he doesn’t starve when Niall’s spending hours in the studio, but everything he knows how to make is basic at best. Niall is the one who takes chances in the kitchen, experimenting with flavour combinations and techniques. Over the years he’s perfected his own recipes, but couldn’t decide on one that he felt okay sharing with the world so Jamie Oliver it is.

“What are these flowers?” Harry asks.

Niall grins both for the sake of the viewers and to himself for picking this recipe.

“Today Haz is making Jamie Oliver’s whole wheat ravioli with courgette flowers and ricotta, in case you couldn’t tell by my jiggling the cookbook about,” he says, smile stretching wider at Harry’s groan.

“Pasta is hard,” Harry whinges.

“Just tie your hair up and get the flour yeah?”

Harry obliges, grumbling all the way

The difference between Harry and Liam is that Harry knows his way around a kitchen. In the video Liam had filmed with Sophia, he’d bumbled about, squinting at the markings on all the old fashioned cooking scale and chopping the potatoes far too unevenly for a good cook in the cornish pasties Sophia had guided him through making. When Niall instructs Harry to measure out two different types of flour, Harry does so quickly and with ease.

Mixing the pasta dough is also easy for him thanks to spending his teenage years working in a bakery in Holmes Chapel. Niall hears Harry’s chirp of delight from the other side of the kitchen, and he knows it’s at that moment Harry’s sunk his long fingers into the eggs and flour to mix them together with his hands.

“This reminds me of scones,” Harry comments thoughtfully. “Except...tougher.”

“Pasta dough is nothing like scone dough, you idiot.”

Harry makes a disgruntled humming sound.

“Yes it is.”

Niall gives the camera a level look.

“What’s the consistency?”

“I think it’s good. It seems well blended.”

“Okay, get the rolling pin and roll it out thinly and evenly on a surface well floured with tipo 00 flour,” Niall reads aloud from the recipe.

“Got it.”

There’s a crinkling of the bag of flour and a moment later a loud plop as Harry overturns the bowl onto the counter instead of gently lifting the dough from it.

Niall facepalms but says nothing.

“Shall we sing as I do this?” Harry suggests after a moment of silence.

“Sure,” Niall agrees and it’s fond. He’s far too fond of Harry’s popstar need to be singing constantly, even when he’s not on stage or recording. It’s one of the many things he loves about him. Being a singer is Harry’s job, but he truly loves it with everything he has. “What would you like to sing?”

Instead of responding with words, Harry launches into the song.

“Everything has a reason, everything has a start, anything that ever burned had a spark,” he sings and Niall can’t help but to choke on the laugh that burbles up from his stomach. It’s their song, the one Harry had sang to him over Skype when he had gone off on the first tour since they got together two years ago. They’d only been together a few months at that point but were already so in love being apart was a shock they weren’t ready for. But they’d gotten through it and every tour after, and in a weird twist of fate Harry was now good friends with the musician who’d written it.

Niall doesn’t join in until the chorus, adding a lower harmony to, “suddenly I’m caught in your light, opened the door and you stepped inside.”

He hears the way Harry’s voice changes and can tell that he’s grinning through the rest of the chorus. What a fucking sap.

“I think it’s thin enough,” Harry says happily after the second verse.

It takes Niall a moment to recover his composure, eyes focused on the book in his lap.

“Leave it there and prepare the filling. Get the courgette flowers and -”

“The yellow things?”

“Yes, and cut the ends off and -”

“The green bits?”

“Yes, Haz, the green bits.”

“I didn’t know these were edible.”

Niall snorts.

“We’ve eaten them out before, Harry. At that restaurant in Paris, remember?”

There’s a brief pause before Harry is dragging out an ohhhhhhhh.

“Was that the same trip we went back to the hotel and we -”

“For the love of god do not finish that sentence,” Niall whinges, hands flying up to his face to cover the blush he feels heating his skin. He’s not ashamed of what happened that night, not by a long shot, but that doesn’t mean the whole world needs to know he has a lingerie kink. Specifically, a Harry in lingerie kink. Even more specifically a Harry in expensive French lingerie that is essentially just scraps of lace kink.

He knows Harry is grinning filthily at the camera now as he carefully prepares the courgette flowers.

“Are all the ends of you wanker?”

“Yes, now what?”

“Now - very carefully - finely chop them,” Niall instructs and hears Harry’s knife start moving. “Don’t crush them.”

“....Define crush.”

Niall groans.

“I know your hands are huge but -”

“Don’t hate on my hands you love my hands.”

“I love your massive paws when they aren’t crushing extremely delicate flowers.”

Harry’s affronted noise makes Niall grin.

“I’m trying my hardest! But they’re so soft!”

Harry somehow manages to get through the flowers and Niall can’t help but wonder just how crushed they really are. It won’t make too much of a difference in the end, and Harry’s right. He did try his hardest and Niall isn’t worried.

What he does worry about is how Harry will pull off the fine chop of the single chili pepper Niall had placed next to the cutting board during setup. Their definition of fine tends to be very different, mostly attributed to Harry’s lesser experience with a knife and utter disregard for Niall’s insistence that ingredients be prepared in the proper sizes. “It will all end up together and taste good,” is what he usually says, looking over Niall’s shoulder as he perfectly juliennes assorted vegetables for a stir fry. In this case, Niall would rather not like to take a bite and end up with a large piece of chili pepper.

“Finely chop the pepper and add it to the bowl with the flowers.”

Niall holds his crossed fingers up in front of the view of the camera. His words earn him another affronted sound from his boyfriend.

It’s easy to walk Harry through adding the mint and ricotta and gently blending it together, and in a few minutes it’s time for the part he knows Harry will love most.

“Now get a pastry bag from the drawer and a one centimetre tip.”

“I get to use a pastry bag?” Harry repeats gleefully above the sound of his proclaimed baking drawer being opened and shuffled about in.

“Yes. Put the filling in it, then put little dollops on one half of the sheet of pasta, about four centimetres apart.”

“This is the best. I like this recipe. I think I’ll make it again.”

“Haz, you haven’t even tasted it yet,” Niall laughs.

“And?”

“Just pipe the filling.”

Harry whizzes through laying out the filling and Niall can bet the little dollops are perfectly round and evenly sized.

“Now get a cup of water and a pastry brush, and wet the area around the pasta. Then fold the top half of the pasta over and seal all the air out.”

Harry doesn’t respond, simply obeys if the running water is anything to go by.

“It’s all uneven,” he laments a few moments later.

“What is?”

“The pasta dough along the bottom. I put the filling a little too high,” Harry says sadly.

“It’s alright, love. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“Yes it does.”

Liam’s pasties hadn’t been very pretty and Niall knows Harry won’t be happy with anything less than a perfect dish.

“Just trim the edges when you cut them apart with the roller?” he suggests.

“Ohhh, yes, that’s a great idea,” Harry cheers. “This is why I love you and keep you around. You’re so smart, Ni.”

Niall preens at the compliment, feeling the colour come to his cheeks again.

“I thought you kept me around so you wouldn’t starve.”

“Well I don’t need you now after this, do I?”

“You cheeky little shit. Hush and finish cutting the pasta apart.”

Harry giggles, the sound of the rolling blade swishing intermingling with the cheery laugh.

He’s an old pro at basic marinara sauce and waves off Niall’s attempt at giving him instructions with a huff. Niall rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. Harry starts singing again as he prepares the sauce, this time an old Eagles tune for Niall’s benefit, and Niall waits patiently. He’ll edit this part out because it isn’t very interesting, especially when their conversation turns to the plans for Louis’ birthday at the weekend. They’ve rented out Louis’ favourite restaurant in Manchester, Rosso, and invited all of his friends and family, and teammates and former teammates. Niall is amazed Louis hasn’t been told about the surprise party yet, or at the very least let on that he’s found out. And usually when Louis finds out a secret like this, he shouts it from the rooftops. But Harry is good at planning and convincing people to keep quiet, and Rio had done his part by assuring Louis that his reservation for six on Saturday was confirmed.

It’s when the pasta water is ready and boiling that disaster strikes.

There’s the sounds of ravioli being dropped into water and then Harry hisses in pain before whimpering. Unfortunately Niall is all too familiar with the noises Harry makes when he’s hurt himself.

“Haz, what did you do? Are you alright?” he asks quickly, for a second debating on tearing down the sheet separating them.

“Got splashed with boiling water, I’m okay,” Harry responds but it’s pained enough that it has Niall worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“Get it under the cold tap.”

The water running does little to ease Niall’s worry but Harry doesn’t sound distressed as he sheepishly asks, “Can we edit this bit out?”

“No way. The whole world needs to know that you can’t even boil pasta.”

“Heyyyy. I can boil pasta.”

The tap shuts off.

“They’re floating. Does that mean they’re done?”

“Yep. Take them out with tongs and put them in the sauce.”

A quiet plopping fills the room for a few moments before Harry lets out a triumphant shout.

“Finished!”

Niall doesn’t think he’s ever moved as quickly in his life as he does when he moves around the bed sheet to get to Harry. He ignores the food and reaches for both of Harry’s wrists to inspect his hands for damage, against Harry’s protests that he’s fine. But sure enough, the skin across one of Harry’s palms is a shiny, angry red. It looks minor enough, but Niall can only hope it doesn’t blister.

“Don’t kiss it better, it hurts,” Harry whinges when Niall lifts Harry’s hand to his puckered lips. Niall kisses his knuckles instead before pressing a second kiss to Harry’s temple.

“Let’s try this then shall we?”

Whilst Harry plates the food, Niall moves and adjust the camera so the frame is of the two of them standing at the counter with their plates. He sets it back to recording as Harry sets the dishes down.

“This looks amazing,” Niall admits, finally taking in the meal Harry has prepared. The pasta is uneven and obviously not sealed as some of the filling has come out, but for the most part it is a fantastic first attempt at ravioli.

Harry beams at him and cuts a ravioli in half before spearing it with his fork.

“Open up!”

“Oh are we feeding each other?” Niall huffs but obediently opens his mouth for Harry to poke the food inside.

The sauce is still hot, not quite enough to be scalding but Niall chews carefully as Harry watches him expectantly, eyes hopefully wide.

Niall won’t tell him that the pasta is too chewy, not quote kneaded long enough, or that the pepper was chopped too roughly. Because overall it tastes great and Harry’s so excited he can’t break his heart.

“Delicious,” he announces, lifting his own forkful of food to Harry’s mouth.

“Better than Liam?” Harry asks around a mouthful of pasta.

Niall smiles.

“Yeah, love, better than Liam.”

 


End file.
